Love Him Desperate (On the Market #5) - E.M. Lindsey Page 0,17

crack to let a fresh, late afternoon breeze in. “I ruin things. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing’s ruined.” Raphael turned to him and laid a hand on his arm. “I’m glad I know you, and I’m glad you’re letting me spend your birthday with you.”

Dmitri’s eyes glinted in the setting sun, with a look in them like maybe he couldn’t believe what Raphael was saying. But in the end, he didn’t argue. He just climbed out of the car and went inside to place their order.

The middle of the field was still warm, even after the sun had set. Dmitri had spread two comforters and laid out a couple of pillows, and he offered an unobtrusive arm out for Raphael to help get him situated on the hood of the car.

They laid with their backs to the windshield, faces to the sky, and the food sitting between them getting a little cold. He couldn’t really eat any of it, and Dmitri seemed more melancholy than interested in stuffing his face. Raphael had asked him to stop at the little gas station on the way, and he’d popped in to look for something—anything—that would have made the night special.

He settled for a lone, half-squashed package of twinkies and a box of matches that he kept hidden away, twisted in the black plastic shopping bag. It was a sad, sorry excuse in place of a birthday cake, but Raphael was determined to make it a real moment for him, even if it was cheap sponge cake and bit of flaming sulfur.

Dmitri hadn’t asked about it though, he just laid there quietly, staring above them.

The sky was dark, and with the stars a shower of light, Raphael felt strangely at peace in a way he hadn’t expected.

He was hardly a collector of people—whether they were friends or lovers. Lorenzo was the first person in years to put up with Raphael’s sarcasm and attitude, and he was the first person to do more than send over chicken soup and roasted vegetables when he was taken down by his seizures.

And there was something in Dmitri that was a lot like Lorenzo—enough that it triggered that same sort of desperate caregiver buried deep beneath his years of jaded lack of faith in people. Turning on his side, Raphael propped his head up on his elbow and offered what he hoped was a kind smile. His face muscles weren’t as tight as his hands, but they didn’t always behave the way he wanted them to.

Dmitri softened at his look, though and rolled his eyes back up to the sky with an embarrassed laugh. “I’m being boring, aren’t I?”

“I’m not remotely bored. I like sitting out here. You don’t get to see the sky as often in town with all the trees. Cherry Creek is beautiful, but it’s occasionally…”

“Claustrophobic?” Dmitri finished for him with a breath. “Green is nice, but sometimes I want something different.”

“I always felt like that when we would drive to Berlin. We had to make a lot of trips when I was younger because I had surgeries to help keep my legs from getting too stiff.” He ran an absent hand down his thigh, then around the back of his knee where he had long, white, faded marks in the places doctors had sliced into his skin and stitched him back up.

“Where did you grow up?” Dmitri asked softly.

Raphael smiled. “A little town very similar to Cherry Creek—but maybe not as friendly. Everyone there was so old, and there were too many stairs. But Berlin was so…big. There were so many people, so many buildings. My aunt would take me to this little restaurant, and we would watch all the tourists from different countries and try to guess where they were from. I never wanted to leave.”

“Why did you?”

Raphael shrugged. “It wasn’t home. Not for my mother, anyway. I ran away when I was nineteen—with a beautiful Italian woman. She lived in Berlin, in a neighborhood that means Little Turkey. I fell madly in love with my neighbor there.”

Dmitri’s eyes sparkled, and he sat halfway up. “You had an affair?”

At that, Raphael laughed so hard his cheeks ached. “Not quite. She was in her seventies. She was the first person who took care of me that didn’t want to do everything for me. When Chiara wanted to move to Örebro, it broke my heart into pieces, leaving her behind.”

“What was her name?” Dmitri asked quietly.

“Şima. Chiara left me after we moved to Örebro, and I thought about